


tell me that you’re still all in

by ftera



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29972481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftera/pseuds/ftera
Summary: Akihito was used to quiet weekday nights. He wondered, sometimes, what that said about him now.
Relationships: Asami Ryuichi/Takaba Akihito
Comments: 11
Kudos: 86





	tell me that you’re still all in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [STARBOYPLATINUM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/STARBOYPLATINUM/gifts).



> ahaaaa does. does anyone read finder in 2021 still.....
> 
> recently made it my mission to consume finder fics after catching up to the manga a while ago and realized there was a lack of ahem daddy kink so here I am :'''') 
> 
> title is from all in by chri$tian gate$. this is not beta read so please don't kill me. enjoy :*

The word slips out of his mouth before he even realizes it, drawn from his throat before he can even think twice.

It would have been one thing, maybe, if it had slipped off his tongue in the middle of being fucked into oblivion, but there's no excuse for it now.

Asami has been pouring over documents for hours now, something Akihito is used to. He'd brought out a plate hours ago of leftovers from his dinner, which now sits half eaten on the table. Akihito had been content to simply sit beside Asami on the couch while the man worked, staring unthinkingly at the TV while it switched from a drama to the news and back again. At some point he'd curled up on the couch and used Asami's thigh as a pillow. Other than some shifting and light mumbling, they hadn't really spoken at all, but that was fine.

Akihito was used to quiet weekday nights. He wondered, sometimes, what that said about him now.

So he isn't quite sure where it comes from, drifting in and out of awareness as his eyes catch on flashing colors of the screen to Asami's fingers, flipping through papers and gripping a pen. One second it's watching a woman dramatically confront her husband, and the next it's, "Daddy, pay attention to me."

It takes him a few moments to realize that he's said anything at all, but the sudden _stillness_ of the room catches him off guard. There's a hand on his head— had it been there the whole time? stroking his hair, lulling him further towards sleep?— that's stopped moving, a lack of paper being shuffled and sorted through. He's sure that the TV is still making noise but he can't hear it over the roar in his ears, can't hear anything at all until—

“What was that, boy?”

Heat floods his already warm body, burning through him at a speed that borders on embarrassing. He feels like a fish out of water, dry mouth opening and closing but unable to make a sound. Had he really said that? “I— I don’t—” he sputters, turning his face into Asami’s leg so the man can’t see his face. “I didn’t say anything.”

The hand that had simply been resting on his head moves again, but this time Asami’s fingers twist and tug at his hair. It’s harsh enough to bring the threat of tears to his eyes. Moving into the grasp alleviates the pressure, but it leaves him even more exposed to Asami than he was before. Gold eyes burn on his cheeks, his lips. Akihito is— not _scared,_ not really, but he refuses to make eye contact. Those eyes know too much, know how to get what he wants and know how to make Akihito turn into a babbling pile of mush.

It’s a dangerous, lethal combination.

“I don’t like to repeat myself,” Asami tells him, and those fingers are gentle again, brushing his hair back and away from his face. 

Akihito already knows this, has had this lesson bitten and licked and bruised into his skin. “I just wanted some attention,” he says, hoping that if he pretends the word doesn’t exist it won’t come up again.

Asami seems to be considering his words, petting again in long strokes that momentarily distract him again. His other hand is playing with the edge of one of the papers in front of him, reminding Akihito of the unintended cause of his dissatisfaction. Because that had been the problem, hadn’t it? Akihito was used to quiet weekday nights but there’d been an itch, hadn’t there? Something that told him to ask for more, demand it, beg for it.

“I’ve been giving you attention, haven’t I?” It’s a trick question, poison disguised as honey. His earlier slipup has not been forgotten, not by a long shot. “I’ve been giving _too_ much attention, I believe, for you to be so greedy and ask for more while I’m busy.”

Akihito nods, words failing him.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Asami smile, a curl of his lips that promises a good time if Akihito will play into it. “Tell me again, what it is that you want.”

He gasps at fingers curling into his hair again, and then, “Just wanted you to pay attention to me.”

Asami tsks. “Even though you know better than to ask?”

“Yes,” he breathes out.

"Impatient boys go over their father's knee, Akihito." Asami's voice is firm, a fine line that he's been dancing along from the start— the start of this scene, the start of the night, the very, very start. It's indisputable that Asami holds the most power in their relationship but here, in the moments that could go either way, Akihito can decide which side of that line he wants to be on.

So when he moves to crawl up over Asami's lap, it's on his terms. It might've been enough to simply apologize, to brush off the words themselves and pretend it hadn't happened. It might've been, but his mind is already buzzing, body hyped on adrenaline and anticipation for something he hadn't realized he wanted until it was voiced.

Some days there is a playful game of forced submission, others where he's tied up and unable to move, even more still where he's just fucked stupid into a daze.

There's a different kind of high in offering up submission on a silver platter.

He wonders for a second if Asami knows what he’s giving up so willingly, but the thought is there and gone in a second. The horny bastard probably gets off on just this, on Akihito debasing himself more and more each day, burrowing himself deeper into the rabbit hole. If he admitted to it, would that make it better or worse? Would he be unleashing a tiger, or closing its cage?

"I'm sorry, sir," he tries, words dripping out his mouth like sugar sweet honey. It's too much for Akihito to use the word again, but he figures this work around will do the trick.

And it does— Asami just gives him that horrible smirk again, shifting their bodies around to make this more comfortable. The hand that goes straight for the front of his jeans makes him jump a little, but Asami just unbuttons it and pulls the zipper down. He's not sure what he's expecting— even a little touch would be welcome, but he knows better than to expect any sort of kindness.

He holds still as his ass is squeezed, tries not to squirm as a hand slips his pants down just enough to freely trace patterns on his skin. "What's a good number?"

Akihito is confused for a second, already slipping somewhere else. The words are grounding, calming the anticipation for a game that hasn’t really started. He considers the low buzz of arousal in his gut, tries to calculate his own pain tolerance. The only unknown factor is how much force will go behind each hit, but—

Fifteen will probably be safe. “Twenty,” is what comes out of his mouth, followed by eye contact and fluttering lashes. They’re both smiling, but Asami’s eyes are dark. A shiver runs through his body, a light tremble that stops only by the presence of a large palm settling on the back of his neck.

Asami bends slightly, his breath hot in Akihito’s ear as he gives his only warning. “Be a good boy and count.”

The first hit isn’t much. He’s been shoved into walls and tossed around onto things that have hurt worse. It’s no more or less than what he thought it’d be. “One,” he says, trying to relax his body now because he knows it’s just going to get more intense from here.

And it does— by six, he’s got one hand trying to find purchase in the couch and the other stretched down to clutch at the extra fabric around Asami’s ankle. He’s rocking forward with every hit, his only real grounding point the hand that’s still firmly pressed against the back of his neck. He’s dripping, straining in his boxers, and the movement helps a little but his hips are too high to give much more than a hint of pressure against Asami’s leg.

It’s torture, bright and burning and turning his ass into a vivid shade of red.

By thirteen he’s shaking, gasping around the numbers that spill out of his mouth. He’s close to the mental limit he’d given himself and it shows. Each blow threatens to break him apart, makes his mouth loose and his body looser. He knows he’s babbling between numbers, but his mind is focused on _which_ number and the feeling of Asami’s hand on him. There’s pauses between the hits, sometimes just to create suspense that makes him start talking again, other times full of pinches and squeezes that threaten to break his concentration.

At twenty, he’s near sobbing. The hits started overlapping long ago, and the cool air of the penthouse stings after each one. There’s a pause after this blow, longer than any of the rest have been, and he realizes his mistake instantly. “Twenty,” he rushes to say, not bothering to try and cover his abused bottom even though his instincts are screaming for him to do so, because he’s broken his only rule so he’s bound to be punished more, right? He got to the end, didn't he? Surely Asami wouldn't make him start from the beginning, not now.

“Daddy,” he sobs, and the filter is _gone_ now, his shame forgotten. His whole body is on fire, nerves frayed and exposed. He's not sure which way he wants to move— down, into a hard pressure he knows is there, or up, to press further towards hands he knows will take care of him. “Daddy, daddy, I’m sorry, _please._ ” He’s not sure what he’s pleading for anymore.

The hand on the back of his next smoothes down his back once, twice, following along his spine as if he’s a spooked animal. “Shh,” Asami quiets him, legs shifting beneath his chest. “You’ve done so well, such a good boy for me.”

Warmth rushes through his body, the knowledge of taking his punishment well making him near dizzy. Here, kneeling across Asami’s lap, he knows that he is the center of Asami’s world. Isn’t that what he wanted, in the end?

“Daddy, please,” he says again, body a livewire waiting for a catalyst.

He’s not expecting mercy, but Asami is touching him again, this time to shove his jeans down to his thighs. “Oh, you poor thing,” Asami says, finger drawing a single line down his still hard dick, but he sounds _mean,_ and Akihito is weak.

“Please,” he begs. He doesn’t know what else to say to get what he wants. “I was good, wasn’t I?”

Akihito should really stop being so scared of someone who gives him so much pleasure, but that’s probably what scares him the most. It’s not fair, none of it— Asami is too handsome, knows too much of his body, has opened his world to so many different things. He is nothing but putty in this man’s capable hands, and they both know it.

“Oh, sweet boy, you were the _best._ ” And then there’s a hand around his dick, and—

It’s embarrassing, really, that a few simple strokes and some sugared words are his undoing.

It takes some maneuvering, but they work together to get his pants off. He doesn’t put up a protest when his boxers are used to wipe him off, just mourns their loss for a few seconds before they’re tossed out of sight and out of mind. Asami manhandles him into his lap, hands soothing over the newly exposed skin of his legs. _Okay,_ Akihito thinks, mind somewhere else again. _This is fine._ Better, probably, to be on his lap, than spread out beneath him. At least here he can control the pace somewhat, even if his legs are jelly and his mind is mush. He wouldn’t be forced to deal with Asami’s hips making contact with his ass in this position. 

So he mentally prepares himself for Asami’s hands to stray, for fingers to start prodding at his hole, but nothing happens. Akihito sits there, catching his breath against Asami’s neck. He _knows_ that Asami is hard beneath him, can feel it with even the slightest movement. “‘sami?” he slurs, making an attempt to push against his chest. It turns out that his arms have lost strength too, so he gives up on a losing battle.

Asami shushes him, planting a firm hand between his shoulder blades. He’s moved back a little and then forward again, and he wonders for a second if Asami is trying to rock him like a child. Something settles over his shoulder, warm and soft. He wants to argue against the coddling but— it’s nice, too, the careful attentions that Asami is paying to him. He doesn’t even fuss when he hears more paperwork being moved around, but Asami must feel him tense a little because there’s a hand under the blanket, on his back again, petting down his spine in long, repetitive strokes.

“I’m almost done, just relax,” Asami says, voice next to his ear. His ass still stings and the texture of Asami’s pants does nothing to help, but it could be worse. He knows this isn’t anywhere close to over, knows that this night will stretch on and knows that his words will be brought up again. For now, though? He melts into Asami’s chest, nosing his way up to the corner of Asami’s jaw so he can press his lips there, can taste the faintest hint of sweat.

Finally, Akihito settles.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/galsxd)


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